Seeming
to float upon the stone table
In
the sunlight ---
A
line of river pearl beads was there
Waiting
to be strung
The
light caught the freshly found pearls
And
with them made of them
A
thing of beauty --- in their waiting lines
The
wind caught at them, also
Scattering
their gleaming lives
Spilling
widely --- some were lost ---
Falling,
in long shadowed moons --- strange
Their
shapes, their lines, their ridges
Many
now their stories in their single state
Lost
to the maker of oneness-beauty, rolling free
Then
the gatherer gathered them --- each one
The
maker, his perfect circle made --- and
Full
shimmering upon the stone they lay.
The
wind was gone --- the pearls were still --- till
The
hand that held the thread did string them ---
As
they lay --- to lift them to the sunlight, to make
Of
them a whole thing --- all the greater bound as one
*
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